Shadow of the Past (22 page)

‘So it is decided, then,’ Mr Vernon declared, sitting back expansively and tucking his thumbs into his waistcoat. Once again we were at – I almost said home. We were, in fact, in the elegant dining room at Langley Park, enjoying the Hansards’ generous hospitality. ‘Excellent. I will pen a missive to this Miss Southey myself, advising her that is would be to her advantage to call into my lawyer’s office with all expedition. With luck she will be intrigued, not apprehensive.’

‘As will the egregious Mr Chamberlain,’ Dr Hansard agreed. ‘Imagine, to threaten to remove a child from the only people she knows as parents. Inhuman.’ He rapped down his empty port glass on the table as if defying anyone to contradict him.

Whatever we might have said to the contrary, this was no place for an argument, and in this case, I believe we all agreed with him.

The only principal in the affair not to be present was Jem, who insisted, predictably, that his place was below stairs. Certainly Mr Vernon would not have argued with him. He
preferred people, especially what he regarded as the lower orders, to know their places and stick to them.

But Lady Chase and Mrs Hansard, now retiring to the drawing room where we would join them shortly, had been delighted with my suggestion that Jem was the very man to run our village school. Maria, I believe, loved Jem like a son; Lady Chase had been constantly impressed by his gentlemanlike ways in situations where others might have acted like yokels. My one reservation was that such an appointment would still not qualify him to be an equal in gatherings like this; though we all knew of occasions where the schoolmaster or mistress might be invited to large supper parties to make up the numbers at table, it was not to be imagined that they were of such social standing as to be invited to such a select group. However, I knew in my heart that though Jem was more than happy to join us on equal terms where we might be informal, and had no reservations about speaking his mind plainly as my mentor, he himself would never
put himself forward
. To my mind, that was an indication of his innate goodness and decency; moreover Mrs Tilbury, ever swift to detect a poseur, had treated him with affectionate respect.

‘And Jem will seek a position as ostler at the Rose and Crown. Do you think that this young
William
of yours may be trusted to assist Jem?’ Vernon asked.

‘Let Jem first secure a job,’ Hansard said. ‘Then we can talk about Willum. Now, gentlemen, shall we join the ladies?’

Vernon might have been surprised by the precipitateness of the move from the dining table; I was not. While Dr Hansard appeared to derive enjoyment from most aspects of his life, and joy from some, he only achieved real happiness when he was in the company of his wife.

‘But how will you deal without your groom?’ Vernon demanded, even as we walked into the drawing room.

I caught Maria’s eye. ‘I will be amazed if Simon Clark, my verger, does not put himself forward as a temporary replacement. The very frequency of my visits to Langley Park would be sufficient inducement, would it not, Mrs Hansard?’

‘Indeed it would. And you must admit, dear Tobias, how he has improved in appearance.’ She turned to Mr Vernon with a smiling explanation. ‘He is courting our cook, sir, and I believe they will make a match of it. His clothes no longer hang about him as if he were a perambulating scarecrow; his eyes have life; his hair is cut and he is properly shaved.’

‘Does this mean that your cook is derelicting her duties?’

‘Indeed not,’ Hansard replied on her behalf. ‘You saw how tonight’s table groaned.’

‘More than that, she is expanding her repertoire of dishes,’ Maria added. ‘She cooks him a version first; if he approves, and only then, does she serve it to us.’

‘He must have sophisticated tastes.’

‘I believe that were she to bake his boots in a pie he would eat them with gusto,’ Hansard replied.

‘So he would. Shall I ring for tea, gentlemen?’

Two long slow weeks passed before the second ostler at the Rose and Crown succumbed to the influenza, and Jem, who had been hanging hopefully round the inn yard chewing idly on inordinate quantities of straw, was able to offer his services. He had not entirely wasted his days.

He had learnt who were regular visitors and why, and had regularly despatched
Willum to tail them and find out where they lived. There was one embarrassing moment, he reported to me over a glass of ale at the King’s Head, another Warwick hostelry, when he had almost walked into Lady Chase’s steward, Furnival. We had of course prepared an explanation for Jem’s continued absence from the village, but the presence of a sick aunt in Derbyshire did not explain why he should be loitering in a Warwick inn-yard. Furnival was deep in thought, however, his hat brim turned down, his collar up against a bitter wind, and Jem was swift to take evasive action. Nonetheless, he was glad at last to be taken on, and to announce that he was quitting my employ to pursue an affair of the heart. He might have sent a letter to every man and woman in the village, so fast did the shocking news travel. At each house I entered on my daily rounds, I was greeted with as much sympathy as if he had died.

Sucking my teeth and shaking my head at such apparent betrayal, I declared that I would forgive the miscreant if he came back penitent. In the meantime, Simon did his best, but as a carpenter and joiner he did not truly enjoy working with horses and found irksome my regular parish journeys through rain and snow. It would clearly be a matter of great relief all round if Jem was crossed in love and returned, his tail between his legs.

As for Willum, his disappearance must simply be the way of those London street urchins – thieves, the lot of them – and good riddance. More fool the parson for having thought he could reform him and turn him from his bad ways.

Now was the time for Mr Vernon to send his letter. All was in place. To reassure the Larwoods, now back in London, we explained what was in train, and bade them invite the
redoubtable Alfred Mullins of the Bow Street Runners to protect them.

I received a missive by return. It was Mr Mullins’ advice that they should take refuge deep in Kent with a cousin of his, and when they declined that, snow already falling, he had offered the services of his younger brother, but recently invalided out of the navy, as resident guard. They had accepted the offer, and Mr George Mullins would be installed by the time I received the letter. Nonetheless, though not a lover of snow, I saw that as the family’s greatest protection.

Meanwhile, I recalled that I had need of a new hat and gloves for the winter, and took myself into Warwick, as if on a whim. Simon was silently resentful as he sat beside me. I had suggested that he remain at the rectory, but his sense of duty, along with what I now detected was a capacity for martyrdom, drove him to insist on accompanying me.

My horses and gig in the care of the ostler at the King’s Head, I sent Simon to make the purchases that Mrs Hansard’s cook desired, and applied myself to the task on which I had ostensibly set out. A country parson is soon equipped, so, having had my new apparel sent to the King’s Head and having time in hand, I considered visiting Jem at the Rose and Crown. However, I realised such a move would be folly itself, and forced myself simply to stroll along the main streets. Quite by chance I found myself outside the office of Mr Vernon’s lawyer. Seeing candles still burning on the premises, I acted on impulse, and called in.

Mr Knightley was a man of forty, but looked older, his teeth being much decayed and his cheeks in consequence quite sunken. He greeted me with suspicion, only giving the appearance of listening when I gave Mr Vernon’s name
alongside my own. To my amazement, however, he merely responded by asking how I might identify myself – just as if I had been, like Mr Mullins, a Runner.

Once again my father’s hauteur came to my rescue. ‘Would you prefer me to recite the baptism or the burial service?’

His face folded into what might have been an appreciative smile, and he dusted the wooden chair the opposite side of his huge and untidy desk. ‘Aye, Mr Vernon told me you had a touch of the old duke about you. Welcome, my Lord—’

He bowed, but I took his hand and shook it.

‘Parson Campion,’ I corrected him politely but firmly.

The devil take Vernon for discovering and then revealing my secret. Should I blame the Hansards? Emphatically not. I knew they would die rather than thus betray me. ‘And now we have established my credentials,’ I continued, ‘might I ask if anyone has yet responded to Mr Vernon’s letter?’

He gestured me to the seat he had dusted. ‘You might, sir. In fact, someone did this very afternoon.’

‘This afternoon?’ I echoed foolishly.

‘Indeed, you missed him by about ten minutes. He left precipitately, I must say.’

‘Why should that be?’

‘Because I declined to disobey the coroner’s instruction. He had insisted that only the young lady in question should receive his letter. I was therefore unable to accede to my visitor’s request to entrust it to him for safe delivery.’

‘And how did he respond to your refusal?’

‘With great anger. I confess that I almost reached for the cudgel I keep here behind my desk. However, he seemed to think better of giving way to his passion, and left with no more than a kick at the door to vent his spleen. I pity the next 
person he crosses.’ He permitted himself a sad shake of the head. ‘May I invite you to join me in a glass of wine, sir?’

I waved away his offer, with something like impatience. ‘I must pursue the gentleman, sir. What was his name?’

‘Alas, that was another reason for my refusing to hand over the document: he declined to give it, or an address. As for his appearance, you will find many a gentleman about the town who looks like him in this cold wind – his beaver hat pulled down over his eyes, his collar up. He never removed his gloves.’

‘He did not even remove his hat indoors?’

‘A man wishful to escape recognition might well violate the laws of etiquette,’ he said dryly.

‘His voice?’

‘That of a man of at least middle years. Perhaps it was disguised – his mouth was muffled by his scarf.’

‘Would you recognise him again?’

He raised his hands. ‘In the circumstances…’

‘Mr Knightley, I fear my exit must be as precipitate as your unknown caller’s. Even if I cannot give chase, I can at least report back to Mr Vernon what occurred this afternoon.’

This time I had no hesitation in going to the Rose and Crown, there to seek out Jem. But before I reached the inn, my eye was caught by a small crowd of citizens, gathered round something which moved and moaned. A dog?Were the people mere lads, I might surmise that they were tormenting it for pleasure. But these were decent men and women.

I ran forwards, nevertheless, spurred on by a woman’s cry for a doctor. I know not what fearful premonition drew me, but even as I pushed my way to the front of the crowd I knew I would find, in that bloody mess of rags, poor Willum.

‘Parson!’ he moaned weakly.

‘You are safe now. Jem and I will look after you.’ I doubted my words, but said sharply over my shoulder, ‘Fetch the new ostler from the Rose and Crown. Jem Turbeville. And bid him bring a door or gate – poor Willum’s leg is badly broken.’ I pointed at the jutting bone. As I spoke, I whipped off my coat and covered him gently.

My reward was a glimmer of a smile. A feeble hand sought mine and gripped it.

It seemed an hour before Jem arrived. Possibly it was less than three minutes. He was accompanied by a man I did not recognise, but who declared himself, as he pushed me aside, to be an apothecary.

I wanted no mere sawbones to treat the lad, but a rapid enquiry elicited the information that the doctor was out of town.

Together they lifted the ailing child onto a trestle table top, and swathed him with my coat.

‘You’ve always wanted to see one of the smart bed chambers at the Rose and Crown, and now you shall, lad,’ Jem said strongly. ‘Come, keep those eyes open and talk to me as we go. Tell what mischief you’ve been getting into, eh?’

I found a likely looking boy to speed to the King’s Head to summon Simon and my gig, then at a run followed the little procession – I had almost called it a cortège, so solemn was it – to the Rose and Crown.

However fast Simon rode on my breathless orders to Langley Park, however swiftly my dear friend rode back in response, I feared their journeys would be in vain. Even as I mounted the stairs, I head Willum’s moans growing weaker. Pray God the
sawbones had not given the child brandy. It might still be a popular nostrum, but Edmund inveighed against its hazards.

‘Laudanum drops,’ Jem said briefly as I took my place beside him. ‘The lad’s sufferings are beyond endurance. We had to cut his clothes off him to save him further agonies. You were right – the leg bone is shattered. Mr Eyams believes his skull also to have been fractured, as is his jaw, and there is damage, he says, to the internal organs. All he can do, he says, is make him comfortable until the inevitable end.’

‘Why did you tell the lad to keep his eyes open? And to talk to you?’ I stroked the hair from Willum’s forehead, but only revealing huge bruises and contusions my touch must have pained.

‘Because Edmund – Dr Hansard, I should say – believes that keeping a patient awake gives him a chance to fight. But – barring miracles, Toby – I fear the odds are against him.’

‘Who did this?’ I asked between ground teeth.

‘Let me just find out and he will never hit so much as a fly again,’ Jem declared. ‘Forgiveness be damned, Toby. I want vengeance!’

At last, as the effects of the laudanum wore off, Willum became restless. Recalling what the doctor had done when my elder brother had taken a frightful tumble on the hunting field, I applied to the burning limbs and swollen face towels soaked in cold water and wrung out. But I would not let the apothecary bleed him further, not without Dr Hansard’s agreement.

Jem, still on his knees beside me as we had prayed for the child’s recovery, slipped his hand under Willum’s. It was by now far too swollen for him to grasp it. ‘Tell me, Willum,’ he said urgently, ‘who did this to you?’

There was no reply. At last, through his moans, we detected a plea for water. We could not risk lifting him so that he might sip from a cup, so Jem called for a spoon; little by little he dropped water on to the dry lips. At intervals, he repeated the question insistently.

At last the words seemed to penetrate the blanket of pain enmeshing him. Willum’s eyes opened as far as the swelling would allow.

‘’Tis all right, Willum. It’s your friend Jem, and here’s Parson Campion beside you.’

‘No one can hurt you now,’ I added.

Did he smile? The apothecary had had to remove broken teeth from his mouth so it was hard to imagine that he could.

At last a bustle in the yards announced the arrival of a horseman. Did we dare to hope that it was Edmund? And if it were, could he – with God’s help – work a miracle? Had not been part of Our Lord’s Ministry been to heal the sick? God grant that this night his servant Edmund might share his Master’s powers.

We heard feet taking the stair two at a time. And here at last was our dear friend.

He wasted no words. ‘Tobias, Maria will be following in the gig, with Simon. Jem, I have brought you your clothes from Langley Park – a fresh shirt is better than one smelling of the stables. Tobias – we will need soap and water and fresh towels, do you hear?’ he added as I ran down the corridor.

He was determined to keep me occupied until Maria’s arrival. First it was sheets to tear up as bandages, then the clean wooden slats he used for splints that he had strapped to his horse’s side. Next I had to bespeak the Hansards a room. Then rooms for myself, for Jem, and for Simon, too. Then he was concerned about the horse itself: it was a cold night and after its exertions needed a warm stable. Each time I returned to the room a further few inches of Willum had disappeared under bandages; there was a wonderful smell not just of lavender but also of another herb or spice. It was my job to clear away bloodstained sheets and poor Willum’s clothes. Edmund was working with a military precision that admitted no hindrance.

Having offered to undertake, in addition to any fetching and carrying required by Edmund, such duties as would normally fall to a second ostler, I had no idea what time it was that Simon turned Mrs Hansard’s gig carefully into the inn yard. As I took the horses’ heads, she was already leaping down like a woman half her age, reaching for baskets and directing Simon to collect bundles and rugs.

Only as I called did she turn from her tasks. Her hands still full, she ran to me somehow managing to embrace me without dropping anything. ‘Dear Tobias, thank God you were here – but what are you doing?’ She took in my shirt sleeves and dirty boots.

‘It matters not. Edmund is with Willum even now, Jem assisting him.’

‘Does Willum live?’

‘Just.’

‘Simon – pray deal with the horses. Mr Campion will carry all these things.’

Although she seemed to be asking him for a favour, there was no doubting the authority behind the request. Simon tugged his forelock and took my place.

Together she and I ran in; forgetting politeness, I led the way upstairs and to the sickroom, where only three candles now burnt. Both men were in shirtsleeves, liberally splashed with the child’s blood. They knelt in attitudes of fervent prayer. Swathed from head to toe, Willum lay perfectly still.

Maria choked back a horrified wail. ‘You have lost him?’

‘Not yet. We may well. But the boy has good spirit. He has had beatings before. By God’s Grace – and thanks to Tobias and Jem’s quick thinking and actions – we may hope. Our
prayers may be answered. He asked for you, Tobias. He said he had something to tell you.’

I was on my knees beside the others. ‘What might that be?’

‘He said – and these were his words: “Tell the parson it was the cove up at the Hall what done it.”’

‘Sir Marcus! Dear God! I knew him for a vain and greedy man but never thought – or perhaps I did. I know not. But such an accusation, from a lad on what might be his deathbed – it must be acted upon, must it not?’

‘It must. An accusation of such seriousness must be brought before the authorities. Tomorrow we must call the constable. And I think we should summon Mr Vernon. Meanwhile, there is a more important task. Willum will sleep for a few hours, so Maria and I will take supper – I know, my love, that you will not be able to swallow a crumb but you must try. I would like your company at very least,’ he said, with a tender smile.

‘I will set about ordering it now,’ she said tearfully, leaving the room.

‘Tobias, it is now you who smell of the stables. Go and wash and change – I believe Maria has brought everything you will need from Langley Park. Jem, I leave you to watch over the lad. If there is any change at all you will call me.’

‘Of course.’ He nodded and sank again to his knees.

‘Jem,’ I said gently, ‘I do believe that the Almighty will hear your prayers just as well if you sit in comfort.’ I held my hand over Willum’s head. ‘And may He bless you and keep you and cause His light to shine upon you.’ I turned in horror. ‘Jem, has he ever mentioned being baptised? Let us do it now, just in case.’

‘I will stand godfather,’ he declared, happy to be able to do yet another act of kindness.

He fetched Edmund and Maria, and in the tiny, fear-filled room, we dedicated to his Maker anything that might be left of Willum’s life.

I cannot describe the agonies, both physical and mental, for Willum and his friends over the next few days. The worst point came when Dr Hansard decided, after much prayer and in consultation with his Warwick colleague, to amputate the damaged leg. With two medical men, Mrs Hansard and Jem in attendance, I was despatched back to Moreton St Jude.

My task was to put it about the village that poor little Willum had been set about by riotous lads, full of ale and
ill-humour
. He had not recovered consciousness, nor was he likely to, but Dr and Mrs Hansard were caring for the dying child as best they could.

Dr Toone, once more acting in his older friend’s place, augmented my story with eye-watering medical details. Everyone in the village was urged to pray – all did, I am sure, though some did not beg for his recovery but for a speedy and easy passing to a better world.

Meanwhile, Mr Vernon had also descended on the village. No one was quite sure why, except for me, and I was unlikely to betray the reason. Back in Warwick, our bedside cabal had decided that until Willum was – God forbid – no longer on this earth, or had recovered enough to be removed to Lady Chase’s Shropshire estate, no enquiries must be put in train, lest Sir Marcus, afraid that the child might yet recover enough to speak, might make a further attempt upon his life. True, Willum was attended day and night, but that might make the man all the more desperate and result in other innocent people being hurt.

So the story of the drunken violence was endorsed by no less a man than the coroner himself. Our distinguished visitor stayed with me at the rectory – much to Mrs Trent’s terror, since she was unused to what she called the Quality– as it was felt inappropriate for him to stay at Langley Park, his host and hostess not being in residence. In any case, he and I rubbed along well enough, Dr Toone joining us in our bachelor existence most evenings.

Lady Chase – hearing that her son was making progress – discovered that her poor nurse’s ailments were troubling her again, and left Moreton Hall for Shropshire. Staying on in their hostess’s absence did not seem to trouble Sir Marcus and his family, though there was talk of preparations being put in train for the family to remove to London for the young ladies’ coming-out ball.

I had babies to baptise, mothers to church, and all the other pleasurable tasks incumbent on a country parson. All I lacked were daily bulletins from Warwick, though Mr Vernon, who could do so without suspicion or at least fear of interrogation, rode over regularly and brought me secret tidings of Willum’s amazing, if slow, recovery from all that had befallen him. Soon he too could be taken to Shropshire, where Bess would tend him, as she had so faithfully cared for Lord Chase – with no little success, according to her ladyship’s latest, but cautious, letter.

‘So when,’ I asked Mr Vernon, over port one evening, Dr Toone having accepted an invitation to supper with a family whose son he had delivered on a previous visit to the Hansards, ‘do we beard Sir Marcus?’

‘When I have been able to question
William
properly – I find the shortened version of his name, which you people
seem able to accept, quite beyond me. To my mind, there is an ambiguity about his accusation. There may well be more than one “cove” at the hall. I need the exact name.’

‘Surely—!’

‘Oh, I doubt not that Sir Marcus is at the bottom of all this. He has a great deal to lose, after all. But I would not put it past him to employ someone else to do his dirty work. And still Mr Knightley assures me that Miss Southey has not presented herself at his office.’

‘It must be, must it not, that Mr Chamberlain and “the cove at the Hall” are one and the same?’ I asked, humbly aware, as always, of Hansard’s opinion of my logic.

‘I see no reason to doubt it. We have Mr Knightley’s view that the man who left his office was fit to kill. For some reason he may have been irritated by William—’

‘Willum may have been following him. Jem declares that he did not ask him to do so, and, Jem being the most honest man I know, I believe him. But Willum does not lack intelligence or initiative. If Jem was busy, and he saw something that needed investigation, I am sure he would act without reference to Jem. And thus he may have undertaken an errand far too dangerous for a small boy.’

‘Or, if this Chamberlain were in a furious rage, he might simply have been the nearest thing at hand to kick.’

‘Indeed. Hence all our secrecy; hence the need to remove Willum to Shropshire as soon as possible. At that point I shall invite back the man who has taken over my parish duties, and accompany them,’ I added.

‘Do not the villagers perceive it as strange that you are here, while the boy you used to employ is dying elsewhere?’

‘You know villagers, Mr Vernon. They see no further than
their own parish boundary, and care less. Were it Farmer Lowood’s son, they might consider my place to be at his side. But Willum was a “damned furriner” in their eyes, who took a job in my stables that could have gone to one of the lads from their own workhouse and saved them money. They are not bad men and women, pray believe me, but they have not yet fully grasped the parable of the Good Samaritan.’

He looked me straight in the eye. ‘Yours must be a very lonely existence.’

‘That is true for many of my colleagues. In their parishioners’ eyes they are sad misfits, neither gentlefolk keeping themselves rightly to themselves nor men with whom you may enjoy a taproom gossip. Indeed, many are in receipt of such pittances that all they can do is rent a room with a decent family. This while our bishops amass personal fortunes and live like princes.’ Unconsciously I had risen to my feet, and strode about the room, slamming my fist into my palm as I thought of the injustices I had seen. But such behaviour was unseemly. I refilled our glasses and sat down again. ‘As for myself, Mr Vernon, I am blessed many times over. I enjoy the friendship of Lady Chase, the Hansards, and Jem, currently my groom. How many men can say they have as many as four true friends?’

He nodded, but each movement of the head signified doubt. ‘But – forgive me if I allude to a subject you must find painful – surely if you sought reconciliation with your family you too could live like a prince. And you would enjoy the company of your social equals, not merely a country doctor whose wife was once a servant and – indeed, Tobias, your
groom
.’

‘I might consort with idle gamblers, drunkards, lechers – none of whom has ever understood the concept of selflessness
and loving their neighbours as themselves. Forgive me my plain speaking, Mr Vernon, but you must understand that to become a clergyman was my choice. No! It was the Almighty’s choice for me. All I had to do was acquiesce. There have been some dark moments since I accepted my calling, but believe me, that have been more than compensated for by the joy I encounter daily as I serve my Master.’

He took a deep draught. ‘You sound like a damned Methodist to me. But you are a good man, and keep a good cellar, so maybe I shall forgive you.’